


Until Tomorrow

by marginalia



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hpvamp, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-27
Updated: 2004-08-27
Packaged: 2018-10-07 20:15:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10368543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginalia/pseuds/marginalia
Summary: For the HPVamp bondage challenge. And because I thought it would be fun. Let's call it dubcon to be safe.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the HPVamp bondage challenge. And because I thought it would be fun. Let's call it dubcon to be safe.

_She thinks he'll be fun to play with and she's right. He's a sweet little puppy with a clever tongue, and he'll sit and shake and roll over and play dead and, most important of all, he won't come until she lets him._

_He's better than her last puppy. That one was dark where this one is light, and blood looks so much better on cream than on gold. That one came suddenly, sloppily, and then cried in shame. This one knows exactly what he is, knows where he stands on the ladder in the Dark, and when he comes he glows and licks bittersalt from his fingers. Maybe he's a kitten._

_She traces the cleft of his ass with one long fingernail. She can smell need, radiating. She wonders what sounds he'll make when she fucks him._

_She's wet just thinking of it._

::

Draco's sleepy, sated, sitting on the stone floor of the windowless room. He stretches like a cat, back curling. There are shackles around his wrists, but the chains are long between his hands and the wall. Each wrist is chained separately, giving freedom of movement. They serve only to remind him of his place.

The merest formality. He needs no reminder.

He doesn't know how long he's been here, how long he's been in the care and keeping of the redheaded vampire. It doesn't matter. It is only the past. He has been given over to her as a gift. The Dark seeks allegiance where it will, and a well-trained Death Eater slave only sweetens the arrangement.

Draco is not a whore. He is a companion. He is accomplished in arts outside of the bedroom. He is a mighty gift. He could leave with a muttered incantation, a wave of his fingers, wandless magic, but he does not. He is bound beyond this place, bound by promises, bound by the Mark on his skin, bound by desire.

The boy has been here already tonight, the boy Xander, with his deep brown eyes and gorgeous mouth. Draco let him suck him off, let him taste his magic, let him with only flashing eyes to seal the bond. He's not quite used to it yet, to the cool tongues and fingers of the vampires, and where Xander holds him he burns like ice. Tonight Draco half expected _her_ to return, to command and direct, and he was surprised and only a little disappointed when she left them alone. He slipped to the floor after, pressed his forehead to Xander's until he caught his breath, then kissed him fiercely, driving him to change, sharp teeth flashing against Draco's lip. Draco tasted himself on Xander's tongue, licking deep in his mouth, licking clean, then pulling back and licking the blood from his skin.

Xander stood quickly, gracefully, bent and checked the shackles, then, "Tomorrow", more statement than question. Draco nodded, leaning back against the wall. He watched Xander leave, then stood himself, slipped his trousers back on and ran his fingers through his hair. 

Presentation is half of the program, and he is always prepared.

::

When she returns, he can tell she had been waiting for some time. He shivers inwardly, impressed with her restraint. Had she still been human, her heart would have been pounding, her pulse tapping a tattoo at the base of her throat, but now only her pupils widen, darkening eyes the only sign.

"Stand," Willow says, kisses him, drags a fang across his bare shoulder, but does not break the skin. She brushes the hair back from in front of his eyes, tender, and then binds his hands at the small of his back. He sways and she smiles.

She talks so much, but Draco has oceans in his ears. Her patter has a rhythm, and he awakens only for commands. Her tongue is swirling around his nipples and her hand, never subtle, is cupping him already, testing him through his trousers. He's half-hard, but he can stay that way forever if he has to. It's not magic. It's will.

A few tiny cuts and he's bleeding. She tastes him and his magic, tastes him sweet and licks him dry. Her hands are running up and down the lengths of his arms and he pulls against the manacles, tensing, teasing. "Puppy want out?" she asks, and he whimpers in her ear, crafted wanting. Willow unlocks him and rubs his wrists too hard to be mistaken for comfort. "Come," she growls, presses herself against his bare chest, and he does, throws her back onto the floor and kneels above her, waiting, one knee between her legs. 

Willow grinds down against him and then, then it's fast. He mutters a Charm to undo her top, one of the more useful things he's ever learned, then pulls it off and leans in, cupping her breasts in his warm hands, biting and sucking on the already-hard nipples. Her sounds are primal, rising up from her belly as she twists her legs around his thigh and rolls her hips, brushing insistently against his erection. She could throw him off, crush him against the stone, but she doesn't.

Instead she stops suddenly, wicked half-grin as she tangles her fingers in his hair and pulls his head up to face her. "I have a present for you, puppy," she says. "It's just outside." She shucks off her clothing on the way to the door, then leans around the corner to retrieve the gift, one slender leg in the air. "Well, to be honest," she says, straightening, "it's a present for both of us."

Draco's never seen anything like it; really, Muggles had far more ingenuity than anyone ever gave them credit for, getting by without wands. She's buckling a harness around her hips, black striking against her pale, pale skin, and he can't wait to suckle at the marks it's bound to leave. She rocks against it, heavy-lidded eyes and parted lips. "Strip," she says, voice husky. "Chain yourself, and kneel on the mattress." 

The rubber cock is bobbing obscenely in front of her as she steps beside him. He turns and takes it in his mouth without prompting, and she very nearly purrs. Draco can smell her, damp and musky, and he wonders where the heat comes from when they run so cold. He tongues and suckles the cock, and when she adds two fingers he begins to burn, tight heat twisting low in his belly. Suddenly, his mouth is empty and she's behind him, prepping so quickly he wonders why she bothers. She's stretching the muscle, fingers scissoring. Everything's burning, even his wrists where he's pulling against the wall, and for a moment he forgets everything he's ever learned and listens to a wail tearing out of him from some place he didn't know existed.

Willow replaces her fingers with her cock, he's full and stretched and he remembers now, relaxes into the pain and the burn and the chains. He takes the binding and the twisting and lets them go. She fucks him kneeling, arms chained to the wall, stomach muscles screaming. She's riding him, riding her own hand, rough and bruising. Her other hand reaches around cool, slick still with his own spit and now precome. She's stroking stronger than any Muggle girl would dare, hisses "now," clamps fangs down on his shoulder, and he's spilling hot, jerking hard against the chains. His sweat pools between them as she rests, soft breasts and belly against his back. They rock slowly still, humming low, she slips off and out and they lay curled, but only for a moment.

Willow unlocks one wrist, sucks the blood from where the cuff broke the skin. "Very good puppy indeed," she says, "Pure blood." She stands, unbuckles, slips back into her clothing, but leaves her shirt hanging open, breasts exposed. She leans in and presses one finger against his mouth. 

"Goodnight, and sleep well so we can play tomorrow."


End file.
